“Elodie!”
“Aaack!”
I spin around just as a container of sea salt flies from her hands and hits the floor. I take a step to get it for her, but my hands are full and her eyes fly wide behind her thick-framed glasses.
Her expression grows more horrified. “Oh my god!”
“Sorry! I’m sorry.”
My heart is racing, both from her dancing and the shouting, but I got a glimpse of an Elodie I sure as hell would’ve never seen otherwise. Does anyone witness this side of her?
“I knocked,” I explain lamely. How do I fix this? Be professional.Do your job. I force a smile past the swirling emotions of the last few minutes. “I have a special delivery.”
She blinks and steps back like she’s going to close herself into the pantry. “Lane was supposed to be coming.”
“He got called to the main distillery in Denver. You got me instead.” I smile to defuse the situation.
“You’re early,” she says with a panicked whisper, her hazel eyes owlish behind her frames. She’s closing down on me, and I can’t let that happen.
“Good thing I was, or I would’ve missed your deepest secret.”
She gives an astounded shake of her head.
“That you can dance.” I say it lightly, but my heart is pounding. I’ve mucked all this up. Can I save the morning? I balance my load on one arm, stoop to pick up the salt, and hand it back to her. I flash her my winningest grin. As seedy as it sounds, it usually works with women.
She doesn’t accept it right away. The grin or the salt. A deeper flush creeps up her neck. “That was private.”
My stomach sinks all the way to the ground. My chest does one twist and holds, thinking of a question that’s none of my business, but I need the answer more than I need to be professional. “Was it for Lane?”
“No,” she says, scandalized, and snatches the salt. “It wasn’t for anybody, but why isn’t Lane doing the drop-off?”
I’ve never seen her this riled up, but then I barely see her, period. Something I’m trying to remedy, but not today. “He asked if I could make the drop, and I didn’t think it’d be an issue.”
Her stern stare makes me want to squirm like I’m back in elementary school. My instinct is to claim I didn’t do it, whateveritis. Do I look like hell? My clothes are clean and I brushed my hair, but I discreetly glance down to check myself regardless.
She drops her gaze from my face down to my boots. I gave them a quick polish before I left. They’re work boots, but clean. When she wrinkles her nose, I want to sniff an armpit. I showered last night, but something about me is not up to her standards. My stomach sinks further.
She squares her shoulders and marches to the island. “You can set the bottles here.”
I follow her and set the box down. I can’t leave like this. She’s upset with me, and possibly with Lane. I’ve gotta save this. Not just for the distillery. For me.
It’s been years of trying to get to know the elusive baker better, but unless I eat cupcakes, muffins, and cannoli three meals a day, I don’t usually see her around. The one time I finally get a glimpse of the real her, and I’ve scared her?
The back of my throat burns. That won’t do. “I really am sorry that I scared you.”
She lifts her chin. “Youstartledme. Next time, I need to be notified of any delivery changes.”
There’s still something in her tone. Something that feels personal, but not in the way I’ve wanted from her. Has it all been for nothing, trying to get to know the only woman who’s caught my attention in years? “Do I bother you?”
She draws back at the abruptness of my question. “Your flirting does.”
“I wasn’t trying to hide my interest.” I’ve been called shameless before, but I don’t go where I’m not wanted. I had enough of that growing up.
“Oh.” If possible, her face turns redder, and she blinks several times. “But you aren’t, you see.”
“I’m not what?”
Her eyes narrow. “Interested.”
